Miles From Where You Are
by Indee
Summary: Oneshot. Preseries. I find the map and draw a straight line. Dean thinks about just how much he misses his baby brother.


Dean stares at the map for a long time. His finger rests on the small red dot he'd placed on it so many months - years - before. He's lost track. It just feels like it's been so long. Impossibly long. He moves his finger and traces a line from the red dot to his current location. It seems like such a short distance. He sighs.

"What're you doing, Dean?" his father asks, and Dean looks up from the map and rubs his eyes.

"Nothing," he answers and folds the map up, tucking it away in his pocket. He does this every time they end up somewhere new. He traces the lengths, the distances through farms and state lines from where he is to where Sam would be. He'd never admit it out loud, didn't even think of telling John about it. He misses his baby brother more than he thought he would and it hurts. It hurts so badly and that just makes him move faster and fight harder.

"Here's to a job well done," John says and lifts his bottle of beer. There's a ruckus in the corner of the bar, some tussle and Dean's eyes stray to it a moment before he lifts his own bottle, puts on the fake smile he's been wearing for months now and drowns away the feeling.

They sit for a while, regaling the best parts of the night and the worst parts and how they'd always come out on top. John heads to bed before Dean because John's going to a different town than he is. Dean plans on sleeping in, and so he stays awhile in the bar and drinks a few more beers. He flirts with the waitress, but gradually he loses interest. He hasn't been interested in much lately.

Except fighting the battle against evil, but even that's beginning to bore him. It's not exciting anymore. It's not the same when he's doing it alone. And he hates to hunt with his father now. Ever since Sam left, John tries to coddle him and protect him from everything and it's weird. John did that to Sam, not Dean and Dean hates feeling as though John's trying to replace Sam.

Laughter of drunken men penetrates the silence Dean's created, the shell he's hidden himself in and he scowls. He wants to be that carefree. He remembers Sam's laugh and he smiles, because for a moment it feels like Sam's there, sharing a drink with him. But he's not. He wants to be less serious about everything but it's different when he's alone and he hates it. He hates it so much.

- - - -

Dean's hunting a witch in Michigan and she's a nasty bitch. She was stealing the youth from young girls, which doesn't surprise Dean because the hag's nearly ninety and that's what old witch bitch's do. He doesn't expect that much of a fight, but she's got talent and strength, probably from some deal with the devil and she's wielding a four by four. Not exactly Excalibur, but it's hard and it hurts and she's nimble for her old age.

The fight is long and it's hard and for a moment, Dean actually thinks she might turn him into a toad or something because she's mumbling under her breath but afterwards, he thinks she might have just been insane. He eventually manages to drive a machete through her stomach. This doesn't kill her, but it probably hurts like a bitch and it pins her to the floor while Dean sets her on fire.

She's screaming and Dean stumbles out of the shack as it catches fire. A few yards away from the burning building, Dean falls to the ground, tired and pretty sure he has more than a few broken ribs. His face is already turning purple and his eye's swelling shut. The ground is cold, but it's a comfort and he stares at the stars in the sky and closes his eyes. He remembers camping trips and how he'd used to lay with Sam under the stars and while Dean was making up constellations, Sam was pointing out real ones.

The only person Dean wants to share this victory with is Sam and he's not here, not even to tease Dean about he how he just had his ass handed to him by an old crone. Not even to make sure that Dean was okay, that the blood dripping down his forehead was just from a scratch and nothing more. Not even to simply look at Dean the way Sam used to, like he thought this whole thing was stupid. And that look used to hurt Dean, but he'd give anything to see it right now.

He just wants to be there, wherever Sam is. He wants Sam to tell him it's going to be okay, because Dean's not sure it ever will be. Having no hope is supposed to set you free, but it doesn't. It just hurts. Or maybe that's because his rib is broken.

- - - -

John's been missing for two weeks, and Dean starts to get anxious. Not because Dean's worried - his dad's damn near invincible and he doesn't think even the Demon could bring him down. He's getting anxious because the longer John's away, the better the excuse Dean has to see Sam again. And he's there, waiting and watching outside Stanford. He's been staying in a motel in town for a few days already, torn between waiting out John's disappearance or going to Sam. He needs Sam's help with this. Not because he couldn't find Dad on his own, but because he wants Sam there.

He doesn't want to go this alone anymore.

And when he's walking to the car and Sam's behind him, Dean smiles because he's not alone. Sam doesn't see it, doesn't know how badly Dean's wanted this, but it's there. And Dean's happy, even if he doesn't show it. Even if he acts like he's still pissed with Sam for leaving. Just to have Sam there, to have his brother sitting beside him while they drive down the highway. It's exhilarating and familiar and comfortable. And it's like everything just falls back into place.

It's perfect.


End file.
